


Bottom of the Bottle Hits

by Lacrimacorona



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Stephen Strange, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Omega Tony Stark, Relapse, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, and i wanted to give tony something nice, so does nat i don't care and i will not explain myself, tags will update as I go, this is mostly just self indulgent hurt comfort because i've been reading the iron man comics, this will probably have another chapter or two that MAY get spicy, tony survives the snap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrimacorona/pseuds/Lacrimacorona
Summary: Just a small self indulgent thing i wanted to write because I've been reading the 'Tony Stark, Iron Man' run of comics that talks a lot about Tony's alcoholism, and i don't think the movies talk about that enough.Tony and Stephen are already together, but haven't been for long. Stephen disappears for way longer than he expects to, and Tony goes into a bit of a tailspin. when stephen finally gets back, Tony is a mess and Stephen has to put him back together.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, implied past Tony Stark/Steve Rogers - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	Bottom of the Bottle Hits

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make it clear that I don't aim to bash Steve-- I deeply dislike his portrayal in the movies, but I don't think he's beyond repair. I write him with the intention of growth; I also think he and tony have a lot of problems they need to work through still, hence the hostility you're going to see between the two of them. I really like writing them having tension, primarily so I can have the satisfaction of resolving it later in a way that feels meaningful. Just wanted to make that clear before you go on!
> 
> You can find me on twitter at @StrangeFerrum

* * *

_Steel to my tremblin' lips_

_How did the night ever get like this?_

_One shot and the whiskey goes down, down, down_

_Bottom of the bottle hits_

_Waking up my mind as I throw a fit_

_The breakin' is takin' me down, down, down_

* * *

A week. Stephen had said a few hours, and he’d been gone a _week._ Damn sorcerer didn’t have a phone, Tony had realized after about a day-- so that wasn’t going to work. Couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t check in; and whatever dimension he’d thrown himself into, FRIDAY couldn’t find him either.

He was just… out there, somewhere. Somewhere Tony couldn’t get to him if he needed to. Hadn’t they had this conversation, way at the beginning? Should he call Wong? Did Wong even have a phone? Should he go to the sanctum? Could he even find the sanctum?

Tony was spinning himself in circles, he had been for days now. It wasn’t totally abnormal for Stephen to disappear longer than he’d intended to be gone, but usually FRIDAY had eyes on him at least. Not this time, this time they were all flying blind. It was the only thing on his mind, he hadn’t slept in two days, he was pacing every room he entered-- drifting, chewing the skin right off his thumbs, everyone was starting to notice.

Everyone including Steve Fucking Rogers.

Ever the quintessential Alpha, Steve. Always poking, always prodding, always ‘worried’ in that way that meant he couldn’t just let a fucking issue go no matter how many times Tony said he didn’t want to _fucking talk about it_ , _Steve._

Now was no exception.

“Tony you’re freaking everyone out, can we just… Why don’t we just have a pack discussion? Come on, we’re just--”

“Just what, worried? You’ve said you’re worried six times a day for half a week, cap, i get it, i hear you. I don’t want to talk about it.” Tony bit back. He knew he was being harsh, but Steve was doing that _thing,_ fussing like Tony was still his to fuss about. He hated it, it made the back of his neck itch, and he was dealing with enough of that right now.

“I know, you said that, Tony, but I’m just…” Steve reached for him, and Tony’s sleep-deprived brain didn’t react fast enough to pull away before Steve’s too-strong hand closed around his bicep. His hold was firm, right on the edge of forceful, the way he and Alphas like him tended to be. A coercion to stay still and quiet and listen; he didn’t even think Steve realized he was doing it. He was too close, and he could see Steve breathing-- scenting, trying to nail down Tony’s stress and Nope, none of that thank you _very_ much.

Tony snarled, yanking his arm back, teeth bared at a startled Rogers. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do that, Steve, you _know_ better.” he growled. Everyone had turned to watch, he could feel the tension seeping in around him-- it smelled like ozone, like the pressure building up before the lightning crack. He could pinpoint everyone, that hyper-awareness making the back of his eyes burn as he took two steps back; Thor and Loki were directly behind him, and he knew They would go to blows if Steve got out of hand.

Stephen wasn’t here to diffuse, wasn’t here to cut Steve off and usher Tony up to the lab and ask about whatever pet project he had going on. He had backup, sure, but only the fighting kind. He was alone on this front. It made the whole thing worse, every extra body in the room that wasn’t Stephen was making him feel cornered, outnumbered, especially when Steve’s eyes went hard.

“Tony you aren’t being rational. We’re trying to help, we can’t help if you don’t tell us what’s going on. You’ve been pacing around all week, you’ve barely been eating-- and i can’t help but notice Strange has been gone.” Tony swore he caught just a hint of smugness, and he opened his mouth to retort but Steve took a step towards him, squaring his shoulders. “You being stressed makes the rest of us Stressed, Tony. we’re a pack, it affects everyone. And if he’s causing _problems--”_

“Jesus christ, Steve! Problems like what, what the hell has he done to any of you?” Tony snarled, cutting him off. “He keeps to himself, he does his shit, he does his _job,_ in case you forgot he _has_ one! He’s the only one who’s been working non stop since Thanos, you think he can just, what? Take the day off from what he does?”

“I didn’t _say_ that Tony, but if he’s stressing you out this much--”

“He isn’t, _you_ are! You won’t leave me alone, I said I don't want to talk about it!” he bared his teeth again, dragging out every trick in his arsenal to get Steve to back off. He could feel the tension ratchet up further, the other omegas in the room a hair’s breadth away from taking the hell off.

“Where’s he at, then? Huh?” Steve came a step closer, lips peeling back from his teeth. “He’s been gone for a week, and you’re _obviously_ having a hard time, so where is he? Packs stick together, Tony, we’re supposed to take care of each other; and i gotta say, he’s doing a pretty shit job right now. Some Alpha.”

There it was. Tony was waiting for it, the _moment_ he’d made his preference of company clear, started spending more time with Stephen, Steve couldn’t barely contain himself about it. “Some Alpha? You’re one to talk. This isn’t even about me and don’t pretend it is, Rogers.” he growled, “it’s not about my stress, it’s not about how a pack sticks together, you just proved that.” he pointed an accusing finger at the man, face twisted in anger. “You don’t give a shit why i’m stressed, you don’t even care _why_ he’s been gone for a week or where he’s been-- he’s part of the pack too, asshole; And we can’t find him.”

Steve’s hard face faltered, blue eyes blinking at Tony like he’d been slapped. “Yeah, star spangled Jackass. He doesn’t have a phone and FRIDAY can’t find him, he’s been gone for a week and _we can’t find him._ Congratulations, Steve, you got it out of me. Happy? This was never about the pack, this was about you not being able to let shit go.”

“Why didn’t he tell you where he was going?” Rogers tried to save it, tried to spin it, tried to reach out as Tony turned around, but Tony whipped back and slapped his hand right out of the air.

“ _Don’t,_ Rogers, I swear to god. One more word. Don’t say one more goddamn word about him, don’t _touch_ me again or i am going to _lose_ it.” he was teetering on an edge, right on the blade of a knife, and he’d never had good balance.

“Like I've never handled you losing it, Tony.” it was meant to be a comfort, but Rogers was really, _really_ fucking bad at comforting him. It ripped a full chested snarl right out of Tony’s chest, and off the edge of the knife he went.

“ _Fuck. You. Rogers._ ”

******

Bruce had tried to stop him, he could see the storm brewing behind Tony’s eyes. Tony shrugged off everyone and their worry, their concern. He’d stormed right out of the Common floor, straight to his workshop-- his safe place, his one Oasis. He Locked it down, disabled the floor for the elevators, and _sank._

Work hadn’t been helping for days, and he only had one method left to drag his mind so far away from all this he wouldn’t see it for hours-- days, maybe. Maybe forever, who gave a shit anymore.

“Boss, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t care, FRI.”

“You’ll regret it, why don’t I--”

“Yup. Still don’t care. Don’t call anyone, don’t let anyone in, Direct order. I’ll mute you if you keep at it”

He was going to regret being so cruel to FRIDAY later, if he was ever sober again. He’d apologize, if he ever had the clarity for it. But right now? Right now he did not have an ounce of himself left that he could devote to caring.

Right now he needed a goddamn drink, and no one could stop him.

******

Hours later and an entire bottle of fifty year old Balvenie down the tube left Tony sprawled on the cold floor of the workshop. He wasn’t sure when he’d ended up here, or actually even how. Last he knew he’d been sitting up. The bottle was empty, and _that_ was a travesty that needed to be solved very, very quickly; He wasn’t nearly done, but he wasn’t really sure which way was up at the moment and that was going to make finding a new bottle tricky.

He could distantly hear DUM-E beeping sadly at him, and honestly, yeah. He was fucking sad too. Join the damn club. That was the point of all this, wasn’t it? To not be sad for a few hours? Fat lot of good that did, now he was just sad and couldn’t walk. who’s idea was this again?

The sharp sound of something small and metal hitting the ground near him dragged him to a slightly more present state, unfocused eyes opening to see what the hell it was. DUM-E was closer than he’d thought, the brushed gunmetal of his base blurring as Tony lifted his head and looked at the floor.

A little Gold circle with red inlay, glaring up at him from the floor, crystal fucking clear despite the scotch blurring everything else out. His five year chip. He fumbled, picking the little marker of his success turned crippling failure up clumsily and squeezing it between his fingers. He wanted to break it, shatter it into a trillion pieces, turn it to dust. He wanted to grip it so tight it became part of him, like maybe he could erase what he’d just done. What he’d just thrown away.

He was a fucking idiot. A weak, sad, self-absorbed idiot. What was Stephen going to say, if he ever came back? They were still so early in this thing they’d been building, and here Tony was willing to ruin it because of a little stress. Because he couldn’t handle a little tiff with Rogers, a little separation anxiety. He’d been so proud of himself, finally getting five years. he’d been so sure it would stick, it was part of why he’d decided into this thing he and Stephen had brewing.

Finally a stable Tony Stark, ready for a serious relationship, ready to move forward. Who had he been kidding? How could he ever think he’d actually manage to keep his shit together? All it took was one little push and he was back in the pit. Everything he’d worked for, gone, just like that. 

He looked at the bottle, tipped over on the floor next to him, and _screamed._ He picked it up, throwing it as hard as his weak arm would let him, and he wished he felt any satisfaction at all from the sound of it shattering against the wall. Instead all he felt was _empty._ He sank back down, curling in on himself and holding the chip tight in his strong hand.

Tony _sobbed._

* * *

What day was it? It was moments like this Stephen really wished he had a damn phone. He’d told Tony a few hours-- and he really had thought that was all it would take, the situation seemed so simple at the time. It complicated matters when he’d realized Time moved differently in the Dimension he’d had to travel to quite suddenly, and he’d left FRIDAY in the sanctum like an _idiot,_ Tony must be worried by now. How long had he been gone? That couldn’t have taken more than--

“It’s Currently 3:24am on saturday the 8th, Doc. and i must insist--”

_A Week?!_

He’d been gone an entire _week?!_ Good god, Tony must be worried absolutely sick, or furious with him, one of the two-- wait, hold on, FRIDAY was still talking--

“I’m sorry FRIDAY, you lost me. What were you insisting?”

“Boss needs you, Doc.” he’d never heard her sound so… _Grave._ His heart fell out of the bottom of his stomach, he swore he heard the sound of it land between his feet.

“I’m on my way, tell him I'm coming, FRIDAY. Where is he?” He was right on the razor's edge of panic. What was wrong with Tony? Had he been hurt, was there a mission he’d missed? FRIDAY sounded so worried, it brought memories crashing down over him like a flood; millions of scenes of Tony’s death where Stephen hadn’t been fast enough. He finally had him, he couldn’t let him slip away now.

“Workshop, Doc. he’s… he’s in bad shape. Please hurry.”

He told Wong he was leaving, and his tone clearly belied the urgency because his friend just nodded firmly and left him to it. Thank the Vishanti for Wong and his knowing nature. He dismissed his combat suit, putting on something clean and soft and casual and letting the Cloak mold itself into a woven patchwork cardigan, donning his gloves last. Once that was taken care of, he portaled directly to the workshop, barely able to stop himself from sprinting through.

The first thing that hit him was the scent of alcohol. Already a very, very bad sign. Next, the unmistakable scent of Tony-- hot metal, expensive coffee, lightning, vanilla--, But overwhelmed with the sharp, sour notes of distress, so thick it choked him. He scanned the room lighting fast, Spotting shattered glass scattered near one of the walls from what was, apparently, formerly a bottle. The sticky remnants of whatever had been left inside was spattered on the white paneling of the wall-- thrown. Tony had thrown a bottle.

He was hunting for Tony, looking for that dark hair and sun-kissed skin, but Stephen heard him before he saw him.

Tony was _crying._

His heart shattered in his chest, and he followed the sound to Tony’s collapsed, shuddering form hunkered on the floor. He wasn’t hurt, not physically, which was good-- but he smelled drenched in alcohol and grief. The throbbing ache in his overworked hands was forgotten, kneeling next to Tony quickly. The cloak unfurled itself, wriggling it’s long edges along the ground and curling around Tony’s clenched hands.

“Tony,” Stephen started, and the man let out a horrible sound, pushing his face into his own fists. The cloak shifted and dragged it’s fabric over Tony’s cheek, catching his tears. 

“Oh, Tony… hey, it’s just me, darling.” Stephen reached out, smoothing his hand over Tony’s back and watching him sag, “Hey, look at me, Tony. it’s just me, I’m here, I’m right here.” his hand moved back up, avoiding his neck to drag his fingers up into Tony’s hair. That got him to at least turn his head; those honey brown eyes, red from alcohol and tears, hazy and unfocused, finally caught on his face. Stephen saw recognition pass over Tony’s face, then crumple under the weight of it.

“There you are, hey, come here. Come here, Tony, I’ve got you.” he quickly dismissed his gloves, reaching to press his uncovered hand against Tony’s cheek. Another horrible, full-body sob shuddered out of the man he loved as he lifted his head, and Stephen used both hands on his cheeks to coax him up. He gathered Tony into his arms, pulling him to his chest. He dragged his hands over his back, through his hair, forcing a purr to rumble through his chest in the hopes that Tony might be soothed by it.

Tony still had his fists clenched tight around something, and he was mumbling-- barely coherent. Stephen soothed him, pressing kisses to the crown of his head and holding him close. What the hell had happened to Tony to set him back so badly? It couldn’t have just been how long Stephen had been gone, there must have been something else. He’d have to set about figuring that out later, He needed to get Tony off the floor and somewhere comfortable.

“What was it even _for_ …” Stephen heard him whimper, slurred and shaking. His hands had opened, and Stephen spotted the glint of gold and red in his hands before another gut-wrenching sob tore out of him and shook him head to toe.

“Hey, Hey, Tony, come here. I’ve got you, Okay? I have you, i have you…” whatever had happened to get him here, It wasn’t about that anymore. That was a sobriety chip in Tony’s hands. He had an idea of Tony’s addiction troubles-- between Fourteen Million futures and vague mentions of it from Pepper, but he hadn’t known it was this bad.

“I’m so sorry i was gone for so long, Tony… god, I’m so sorry. You’re okay now, I’ve got you. I’m right here”

He couldn’t get Tony moved for another half hour. Every Time Stephen moved Tony would clutch at him hard and whimper, or choke on his own tears, and Stephen had to settle back down for a bit. Once it seemed the tears had lulled enough, he tried again, and Tony allowed himself to be adjusted. The cloak helped, wrapping Tony up and assisting Stephen in picking him up. He kept Tony’s head pressed to his chest so not to jostle him too much and make him sick while he navigated through the workshop to the elevator doors.

“Lets take him to my floor, FRIDAY.” he said softly, and FRIDAY complied silently. He took Tony into the dim light and dark wood, the gentle scents, surrounded by books and ancient tapestries. He opted for the sunken conversation pit full of cushions rather than the bed for now, and settled Tony down, sitting in the curve of his body and hiking his legs up so Tony could lay his head on them.

“That’s it, darling. You’re okay, I’ve got you, I’m right here.” he soothed, fingers in Tony’s hair, occasionally wiping stray tears while Tony hiccupped and murmured. The cloak unraveled itself and draped over Tony, tucking in tight around him and warming up in it’s own attempt to soothe.

Stephen wouldn’t quite call it falling asleep, but Tony seemed to run out of steam shortly thereafter, his body or brain giving up on being conscious for right now. Stephen stayed right where he was, summoning a bucket and a glass of water for later, and kept up the slow motions of his hands over Tony’s back and in his hair.

They would get through this. Tony would get through this. Stephen really needed to figure out what had happened to set him off, and then he needed to formulate a plan to make sure it _never_ happened again. He’d promised Tony at the start of this that Stephen was on his side, that he’d always be there when Tony needed his support-- and he’d failed, this time around.

He needed to make sure he never failed again.

* * *

The immediate need to be sick was what woke him up the first time. He hadn’t even registered that there were hands helping him, hoisting him up, until he was already in a new position. He fumbled with the bucket that was suddenly under his face, his vision just a blurry mess and his head throbbing with every heave his stomach gave.

Coherency only started to really bleed in when he’d finished. His chest hurt, his stomach was still roiling, and his head felt like it was being split by Thor’s fucking axe; but there was a gentle hand rubbing circles into his back, and the smell of his own sick was gone as soon as he’d recognized it was there, replaced by something much more pleasant and familiar. Incense, old books, black tea with honey, worn fabric…

“Stephen…?”

“Yeah, Tony, I’m right here. Can you sit up?” god his voice was like a warm balm. Tony swallowed hard, throat raw and tight; Stephen was back, Stephen was here, he was safe, he was okay. Tony tried to sit up, his body still feeling like he had exactly no control over it. Stephen’s arm braced along his shoulders, keeping him upright as a glass was put in his hands.

“Drink this, Tony. we have to get your hydration up.” Tony fumbled with the glass a little, leaning into Stephen’s chest as he gulped the water down. He felt Stephen press his face into his hair, and Tony _really_ wanted to go back to sleep. He couldn’t get his thoughts together, everything felt jumbled and awful and he _hurt;_ But if he fell asleep, what about…

“Stay?” he croaked, half plea half question, and Stephen pressed tighter to his side, kissing his head.

“Of course, nowhere else I want to be, Tony. come here.” the glass was out of his hands and Stephen was moving-- wait, no, no Stephen couldn’t go away, not when he’d just come back, he'd just said he would stay. Tony scrambled to get hold of him again, a sound coming out of his throat that hurt but that he felt like he _needed_ to make, to get Stephen to stay.

“I’m not leaving, Tony, shh… you’re okay, I'm not going anywhere. You’re going to be sore if you stay like that, let me readjust you. Okay?” Stephen’s hands were in his hair, pressing into his shoulders, soothing. They compelled him to settle as the man moved around, always touching, reassuring-- if he could feel Stephen, Stephen was still here.

Before he knew it he could feel Stephen’s skin against his face. He wasn’t sure what position they were in-- everything kept reorienting every time he moved his head. Stephen was here, and Tony was a fucking mess, why was he such a mess? Why was Stephen being so gentle, so kind? He shouldn’t have to deal with this, he’d been gone, he’d been working, and now he was taking care of Tony?

“ ‘M sorry…”

He felt a hand come up to swipe his face-- why was it wet? Stephen was shushing him, kissing at his forehead, and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Stephen that Tony couldn’t do anything but melt into him again, make him take on this weight. He had to apologize, he had to make it up to him, but everything was fading out again as Stephen’s hands ran through his hair and warm fabric bundled him up.

******

Next time he woke up it was with significantly more clarity, but also with significantly more pain. His chest felt like it had been crushed, his head was splitting, his stomach was sore and he still felt nauseous and a little drunk. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, it felt like too long and not long enough at once, and there was no sun to tell him what time it was. There was only the dim light of distant wall lamps at their lowest setting bouncing off dark wood, and the soft scent of worn fabric and old books, which meant…

_Fuck._

He would really appreciate the ground opening right up and swallowing him whole. His memory was patchy at best, but he knew he’d given in to that awful temptation and got himself totally plastered. The stale taste in his mouth and splitting headache was enough to tell him that, and clarity brought with it the crash of crippling, awful shame. He tried to hide that he was awake, but Stephen was too observant for that-- fuck, had Stephen stayed awake this whole time? Jesus, he couldn’t believe himself.

Stephen was moving, nosing at Tony’s hair, and it made his chest and throat tighten up like a vice. “Hey, Think you can handle some more water?” god his voice was so gentle, it was making Tony feel like a fucking monster. Here he was falling to pieces after Stephen had no doubt had a nightmare of a week, making the man take care of him. What was wrong with him?

“Hey, woah, you’re okay. Tony, look at me.” he loosened his grip, realizing belatedly that he’d twisted his fists up in Stephen’s shirt. He didn’t think he could look up at Stephen, he felt paralyzed, stuck right where he was by his kindness, but a trembling hand came up to cup his cheek and coax him to look up anyway.

“There you are, you’re okay, I have you.” Tony couldn’t stop the little sob that escaped him, but Stephen didn’t look upset, or angry, or alarmed. He just looked so worried, and his hands were already coming up to wipe Tony’s face and pull him close again, shushing and soothing.

“ ‘m so sorry, Stephen…” he choked, “what the hell is wrong with me? Couldn’t handle a little separation anxiety, one little argument with Steve and fuckin… five years. Five. just…. Down the toilet. Just like that.” his hands were back in fists in Stephen’s shirt, barely holding himself together.

“I’m supposed to be better…. Better than this, at least, jesus, I'm… I’m a fucking mess, honey, I’m.. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this, you’re… you’ve been gone, you’re probably so tired, and--”

“Nope.” Stephen interrupted, his voice right on the line between sweet and firm. “We talked about this, Tony. I’m on your side, remember? Come here, come closer.” Tony couldn’t stop himself from complying, pulling his legs up and tucking in as Stephen gathered him up close, pressing their foreheads together.

“This? This is part of you. It’s always going to be. I didn’t know it was so intense, or I'd have put some safeguards in place.” Stephen smoothed a hand through his hair, cupping the back of his skull and brushing their noses together. “It’s just a setback, Tony. we can handle this. I’m not too tired to help you when you’re hurting, Never. I’m sorry i was gone so long, and I’m sorry I forgot FRIDAY, and I’m sorry I don’t have a phone-- but those are things we can fix. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Tony couldn’t handle this. It was so much more than he deserved right now; he deserved to be alone in his room heaving into a toilet on the cold floor, not gentle hands and sweet words and the bone-deep comfort of Stephen’s purr rumbling through his chest.

“You deserve better than this…” he croaked, by way of argument, and Stephen honest-to-god chuckled in response before kissing Both Tony’s cheeks one after the other.

“It isn’t about deserve, Tony. even then, I deserve much less-- but that doesn’t matter. Do you want me to be here?”

Tony wanted so badly to say no. to tell Stephen he was an idiot, to run while he could.

“Yes.” is what he whimpered instead, and Stephen kissed him, pulling him in so Tony could rest his face in his throat.

“Then that’s all that matters. I want to be here, too, and I'm not going to leave, because I'm on your side. I’ll take you through another five years, if you let me, and then another, and another. As many as you can bear.”

Tony couldn’t find any more words. He could only cry, thankful for Stephen’s soft touch and his confident promises, thankful he had a man like Stephen so resolutely on his team. That the sight of Tony at his lowest hadn’t chased him off. The guilt still roiled in his chest, aching and thick, but they could talk about it later.

They stayed like that until Tony felt at least semi-stable. He just breathed, listened to Stephen purr, grounded himself with the slow movement of Stephen’s hand up and down his back. He’d chased away the tears, and now he was just exhausted and dehydrated. He knew he was hungry, but the thought of actually eating anything made him feel a bit green, so he tabled that for now.

“Ready for some water?” Stephen asked softly, and Tony nodded against his neck, letting himself be adjusted and another glass of water put in his hands. He never thought he’d thank god for magic, but here he was, thanking god for magic because the glass just refilled after he finished it and Stephen didn’t have to move a muscle. The empty glass was taken from him after the second go, disappeared somewhere, and Stephen settled back down with him for a while.

Tony dozed on and off over the next few hours, nursing more water every time his throat started feeling dry again. Once he felt confident enough to stand, Stephen walked him to the bathroom so he could get the grime out of his mouth. He peered back through the bathroom door around Stephen, into the bedroom. Damn that bed looked nice right now.

“You should sleep too, y’know.” he murmured at the Alpha, who was currently leaning on the doorframe and smiling fondly at him. Stephen yawned as if on cue, humming once he finally got his mouth closed.

“You’re probably right. I haven’t slept in… Vishanti’s breath, I honestly don’t actually know.” Stephen’s eyebrows drew in together, and Tony wanted _so badly_ to just kiss the crease away. He finished up with his tooth brush and dropped it in it’s holder.

“My seven PhDs and I prescribe sleep for the both of us.” Tony announced, and reveled in the appalled-but-entertained look it brought to Stephen’s face, patting himself on the back when Stephen huffed out a laugh.

“A PhD does not a doctor make, Tony. Not that kind, anyway.”

“You saying I need a second opinion?” Tony waggled his eyebrows at Stephen, and the grin on his face nearly felt full. Stephen clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes, and leaned to plant a kiss on Tony’s mouth.

“Good thing you’ve got a doctor on call, isn’t it?”

They fumbled their way through dressing down and climbing into Stephen’s bed. Tony had made the thing into a veritable nest over the week Stephen had been gone, but the Alpha seemed perfectly happy to nestle down and drag him close, pulling the blankets around them. Tony breathed in deep, thoroughly comforted by the way their scents melded together, and he heard Stephen chuckle.

“What? A guy can’t be pleased his boyfriend is back?” he jabbed Stephen affectionately in the ribs with his fingers, coaxing a laugh out of him.

“Mmm, nope. I’d like a little more fussing, I think.” Stephen rumbled, lifting himself up a bit so he could lean down and give Tony a proper kiss. There was nothing sexual about it, as slow and soft and deep as it was, and it chased the lingering guilt and anxiety out of Tony’s chest quite thoroughly. He chased when Stephen pulled back, peppering a few more kisses on that cupid’s bow before he dropped his head to Stephen’s shoulder. He nosed at his throat, breathing him in and feeling Stephen relax at the affection.

Tony drifted off with Stephen’s thick purr rumbling through him, the steady beat of his heart under Tony’s hand.

They’d be alright. He’d be alright. If they were together, it would be fine.


End file.
